


Speaking Truth To Power

by PrairieDawn



Series: Welcome to 1951 [12]
Category: MASH (TV), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alien Invasion, Epistolary, F/M, Indirect Holocaust Mention, M/M, Organians, Religious Content, The Chicken Incident, Weapons of Mass Destruction, alcohol use, harm to a child (averted)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:06:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24724264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrairieDawn/pseuds/PrairieDawn
Summary: The Enterprise carries representatives from the 4077th to Organia to plead the displaced Earth's case.  On Earth, humanity waits for help of some kind, any kind, to appear.
Relationships: B. J. Hunnicutt/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, B. J. Hunnicutt/Peg Hunnicutt, James T. Kirk/Spock, Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan/Leonard "Bones" McCoy
Series: Welcome to 1951 [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1033128
Comments: 160
Kudos: 109





	1. In which Hawkeye gets kicked out of an operating room

"At the moment, we know of ten cities that have been hit by these weapons. Rescue operations are underway, but no one knows how close we can get to the blast zone without risking radiation injury." General George Marshall flipped to the next page of his yellow legal pad.

Bones jumped in. "Photon torpedo strikes produce blast damage similar to fission weapons, but because they are powered by matter/antimatter reactions, the residual radioactive fallout is much lower." He pushed his datapad across the table. "Figures by blast size and distance. You should be able to bring rescue teams into the 90% fatality zone within twelve hours."

Marshall glanced at the data pad and lay it in front of his aide, who dutifully hand copied the numbers onto the legal pad. "Thank you, doctor. Captain Kirk, despite the demands for unconditional surrender and the attacks on our cities, we don't have reports of more than a few dozen of these 'Klingons' on the ground. Any theories?"

Kirk examined Marshall's figures. "They must not have a large force to work with. Both the strikes on cities and the relative absence of Klingon soldiers would indicate that. Klingons in general prefer to carry out their conquests in person via hand to hand combat or by choosing sides in a planetary dispute and creating puppet governments." He considered. "As the intercepted communications suggest, I believe you're dealing with a single House acting without the knowledge of the High Council--which puts them at a disadvantage in men and materiel as well as putting them under time pressure. It's likely they want to establish clear control over the planet before the rest of the Council puts together an invading force of its own." 

Marshall nodded agreement. "I suspected as much. Doubtless if they'd had time and resources, they would have formed alliances with the Soviets or China, but their rush to mass destruction look to have closed that avenue."

A young lieutenant appeared at the kitchen table they had cleared for work. "Commander Spock has deciphered a message on the channel you were monitoring, Captain Kirk."

"Hand it over. And thank you, Lieutenant Brady."

"You're welcome, Captain." He passed Jim a slip of paper folded precisely in half. "I don't know what it says, but it made quite an impression on the commander."

"Understood. Dismissed, Lieutenant."

The young man turned smartly and left the kitchen. Anything that made a visible impression on Spock had to be significant. Jim opened the paper to Spock's tidy block printing and lay it on the table face up and unread, a calculated show of trust. 

> **Message from Enterprise NCC-1701: Five Klingon vessels in orbit. Request for assistance sent to Federation Council and Starfleet Command. Seeking aid from Organia. Will return in five standard days. Major M.J. Houlihan, Captain B.F. Pierce, and Corporal W.E. O'Reilly rescued from Klingon vessel--Houlihan in critical condition, O'Reilly in serious condition, Pierce in good condition with minor injuries. Corporal M.Q. Klinger also aboard. Stay safe. Respectfully, Acting Captain Una and Acting First Officer Sulu.**

Beside him, Bones visibly tensed in his chair. Jim glanced down to see his hand shaking. The doctor reached out to touch the paper, but let it lie on the table. Marshall noted Bones' reaction without remarking upon it. "You have already described the Federation Council to me, and something of Organia. Tell me about these others. Are you familiar with this Captain Una and First Officer Sulu?"

Jim considered his response. "Captain Una is known to me as the first officer under the Enterprise's previous captain, though we have met only in passing." He hesitated to say more, if only because he wanted to avoid using gendered pronouns that might compromise these twentieth century men's confidence in Una. "Sulu has been my helmsman for over four years and is a tactical genius and a cool head under pressure."

Marshall hesitated. "Sulu sounds Japanese."

"He was raised in San Francisco. It's been a very long time since the war you're thinking of, General Marshall."

"I recognize the other names as members of that mobile hospital outfit that rescued the three of you. I wish we'd had the opportunity to select ambassadors to send to these Organians rather than--what is it? A nurse, a surgeon, and a couple of clerks?"

Jim gave it some thought. "Given that the Organians deplore violence and look down on humans and Klingons for our propensity to conflict, I believe those four will serve you as well as anyone you could choose." He kept his concerns about Major Houlihan to himself, not wanting to upset Bones further.

"The Klingons are still keeping to destroying one Earth city for each one of their personnel killed in the conflict. San Francisco, Shanghai, Stalingrad, Manchester, New York City, Hong Kong, Tianjin, Wuhan, Guangzhou, Paris, Tokyo, and Dusseldorf have been hit so far. In addition, there are reports of some kind of beam weapon being used to execute groups of civilians in response to active resistance. If we don't receive assistance from some other power, either your people or the Organians, this carnage will not stop. We've just fought a devastating war to rid ourselves of tyranny--I cannot imagine that every man, woman, and child on this planet will choose to lay down their arms and walk willingly into slavery, even if the cost of resistance is the end of humanity itself."

McCoy leaned forward, the hand on the table squeezing into a fist. "If they want to rule a planet with a climate that supports agriculture they're going to have to quit bombing cities. There's likely enough debris in the upper atmosphere already to cancel summer for the next year or two. I hate to say it, but all the planting these folks have done is wasted effort." He turned back toward Jim. "Sorry Captain, had to be said."

Jim felt a chill run all the way from the back of his neck to his feet. "The last thing we want is a famine on top of everything else. We need someone to advocate for Federation aid. Someone the Council will listen to." He rubbed his thumb over the script on his wedding band. 

The back door swung open, admitting Edna O'Reilly with a basket of spring greens on her arm. "You gentlemen are going to have to clear out of my kitchen if you expect to eat tonight," she said.

Marshall stood first. Bones collected the message off the table before getting up to take Mrs. O'Reilly's arm. "Your son's on the Enterprise with our people. Thought you ought to know."

She enveloped him in a hug, then pulled away to dab at her eyes with her apron. "That's some welcome news, and just when we needed it. Captain Kirk, Commander Spock would like to speak to you. He's out on the porch with Ed. Could you send Peg to the kitchen on your way? I could use some help getting supper ready."

"I could help with supper," Bones offered.

"That's kind of you, but I'm sure you have more important things to do."

"Nothing at the moment, ma'am."

It was clear to Jim that Bones was looking for something to occupy his hands, keep his mind off Houlihan. "Consider him on detached KP duty under your command, Mrs. O'Reilly."

The older woman chuckled at that. "Can you peel and slice potatoes?"

"I think an old surgeon can handle a paring knife," Bones agreed.

"Old?" Mrs. O'Reilly scoffed. "Really!"

*

How does one say a prayer for a city? 

What had once been Tokyo was still hidden behind the curvature of the Earth, but from his position on the deck of the _Clarion_ , the column of smoke rising from over the horizon dominated Francis' view. The air had a faintly acrid, biting odor that he was sure would only increase as they approached the city. A Geiger counter sat on the deck nearby, its ticks frequent enough to be unnerving, but not enough to indicate real danger, at least not yet.

He lay out the instruments of his vocation on an altar made of packing crates. A block of folding chairs had been set out on the deck to be occupied by the Clarion's crew along with those remnants of the 4077th who had volunteered for the recovery efforts. Colonel Potter sat in the front row of chairs beside Sidney Freedman and Charles Winchester, forming the center of a block of army green surrounded by navy white. Mulcahy had been up half the night with his nose in his Bible, jotting down verses and searching for something of comfort to say.

"Turn to Psalm 130. Out of the depths I cry to you O Lord! O Lord, hear my voice, let your ears be attentive to my plea for mercy." He read he first three stanzas of the Psalm, then closed his Bible on his thumb. "When suffering is too great to be borne, when our path is dark and strewn with stones, we cry out for aid and mercy. Today we walk through the valley of the shadow of death with little but our training and our faith to lean on." He stopped to wipe his glasses clean. Where it rose from the water, the column of smoke flickered with orange flame. They were coming closer to the city and he had forgotten what he was about to say.

He couldn't read his notes. He opened his mouth, closed it, and finally said, "Lean on each other." He paused to pray, or at least to collect himself, then moved forward into the part of the Mass that barely changed from week to week and year to year, speaking the words without registering them, his hands moving in automatic patterns. The ocean obliged his efforts by holding relatively still until the Mass was over and the small congregation had stowed the folding chairs. A piece of charred driftwood, just one, floated past.

"I wasn't here, last time," Potter said beside him. His hands were stuffed into his pockets and his eyes were fixed on the sky. "I was in the European theater at the end of the last war. Don't get me wrong, plenty of horror there too. Plenty." His voice trailed off.

Francis scuffed the deck with his boot.

"I don't know if I can do it again." Potter turned away. Francis heard his footsteps on the ladder leading below. The lone piece of detritus was soon joined by schools of floating, blackened debris.

"Lord, I believe," Mulcahy said, though only God and the waters remained to hear him. "Help my unbelief." 

*

"I'm sure the Major's in the best hands possible, Hawkeye. Sit down before you wear a hole in the floor." Klinger perched on a chair at Radar's bedside while the younger man sipped at a protein shake.

"I should still be in there," Hawkeye argued. He massaged absently at the freshly healed skin of his forearm. The tendon still ached. Dr. M'Benga had sent him out, ostensibly to check on Radar, but Hawkeye suspected it was because he was micromanaging the Starfleet doctor's technique. It would be Hawkeye's fault if she died, and he would never forgive himself for not being in there with her to give her the best chance possible. M'Benga had better be a hell of a surgeon. 

Hawkeye didn't let himself ask Radar her odds. If they were bad, Hawkeye feared he would take his guilt and worry out on the kid, and that would be unfair, especially after he'd saved all their butts.  As if he knew what was going through Hawkeye's head, and he probably did at that, Radar slurped the last of his shake and set it down on the side table. "Major Houlihan's out of surgery," he said.  Hawkeye bit his tongue rather than ask him how she was. 

A few thousand more short trips across the length of Sickbay and back later, or seven minutes by the clock, Dr. M'Benga appeared, looking tired. "She lost a lot of blood, but she's stable and the scans look promising," he told the three of them. He caught sight of Radar sitting up in bed. "You're awake, good. T ry not to subject your brain to a mind sifter and electrocution on the same day, okay?  Now follow the light with your eyes. Don't turn your head." Hawkeye crept up behind M'Benga to watch Radar's responses. Without turning around, M'Benga noted, "I have been a doctor for quite some time. I promise I know what I'm doing."

Hawkeye backed off. "I don't doubt it, doctor. I ran a neuro exam half an hour ago, though, and I hate to put him through it again."

"Everything look normal?"

"Normal for him, yeah."

"Gee thanks, Hawkeye," Radar grumbled.

M'Benga pocketed his tiny flashlight. "We'll talk later. You up to visitors, Corporal? Our communications officer was impressed with you running Morse code through the Klingons' shield modulators."

Radar shrugged without looking up. "Sure I guess. Can I have something to eat first?"

"Of course. I'm going to borrow Hawkeye. Nurse Elta, could you get Radar a proper meal?" He took Hawkeye by the elbow and steered him around the corner and out of earshot.

"Normal for him." M'Benga repeated back to him. "I need to know what's going on with him to treat him, but I'm not sure you have the vocabulary or understanding to tell me. How well do you know the kid?"

"Enough to know he shouldn't have a stranger's hands on him right now. He can tell what other people are thinking, he knows things before they happen--and whatever lets him do that messed him up good when the Earth got planetnapped."

"There have been a large number of casualties on Earth in the last few hours. That will be hitting him, too. I'll get him on a maintenance dose of Lexorin and an analgesic." He stopped in a doorway. "I assume you'd like to see Major Houlihan."

Hawkeye dragged in a ragged breath. "I would."

"I don't need to tell you she needs rest. You can check her dressings if you like, though."

Hawkeye entered the room. Houlihan lay on the coppery bedding with her hair spread out over the pillow, looking paler than he'd like, but her chest rose and fell reassuringly. There were several monitors on the wall. He peered at them. Pain, temperature, blood pressure, heart rate, brain activity, blood gases, and a couple abbreviations he wasn't sure of. Her blood pressure was a little low, her heart rate a little high, but not outside what he'd expect for what she'd been through. He wanted to take her hand, but he had lost that privilege when he'd stabbed her nearly to death.

"I'm sorry, Margaret," he said. "I didn't want to hurt anyone, so of course I ended up hurting you."

He sat down in the chair beside the bed for a moment, but found he couldn't tolerate stillness and pacing the room might disturb her, so he turned back to the doorway. "Thanks for taking care of her," he said to M'Benga. "I don't suppose you've got a drink around here."

"Now I don' t know if I can condone that sort of thing," M'Benga began, but there was a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Dr. McCoy has some bourbon in his office. I doubt he'd begrudge us the use of it."

He led Hawkeye to a corner alcove and pressed his palm to the panel by the door. It opened on a tidy office. There was a framed photograph of a young girl on the desk, along with a photo of the Captain and Spock in dress uniforms, Kirk's hand resting on Spock's chest so that their rings could both be seen. Certificates and awards dotted the walls. The shelves on the back wall held lab glassware, some of it museum pieces even in Hawkeye's time. There was a bottle of amber liquid and a set of glasses on a high shelf. M'Benga lifted the bottle and two glasses down carefully and set them on the desk between them, then poured a couple of fingers of bourbon in each glass.

"Joanna I assume?" Hawkeye said, noting the photo.

"So you do know him. I'm still finding that hard to get my head around."

Hawkeye regarded the glass and its contents. "I know him well enough to know we'll have to replace his liquor."

M'Benga lifted his glass. "To Leonard McCoy."

"May he be safe until we return."

"I'll drink to that."

Hawkeye drained his glass and held it out to M'Benga for a refill. Another couple of fingers of Old Forester made their way into each glass before M'Benga pointedly returned the bottle to the shelf. Hawkeye sipped, this time savoring the smooth, smoky flavor. "Man knows his bourbon," he said.

"That he does. I'm finding it hard to imaging him living rough in a tent, working under those conditions. The lack of sanitation alone must have been appalling."

"You're telling me. He did his share of complaining. But he never begrudged us his hands. Not once, not even when we didn't leave the surgery for two days straight."

"That sounds like Len. Klinger mentioned four of you, and we only retrieved three." He didn't ask the obvious question.

"Major Burns didn't make it." It felt like it had been a year ago. "With Margaret and Radar in such a bad way, I'd almost forgotten. I can't believe I'd just move on like that over somebody I shared a tent with for nearly a year." He sat down at Bones' desk. "I mean, don't get me wrong, Frank was a piece of work. Ignorant, mean spirited, selfish--and he wasn't even a competent surgeon. But he didn't deserve to die the way he did." Hawkeye scrubbed at his hair, pulled one foot up onto the edge of his chair, and gripped his ankle with his free hand. He pointed his face at the ceiling to blink the stinging out of his eyes. "He got hit with some kind of laser weapon. The tissue disintegrated over about three hours and he bled out under the skin. Damn Klingons wouldn't even give him anything for the pain."

"I'm sorry."

Hawkeye waved away the apology. "Waste of time and lives, that's all war is. Human lives, hell, Klingon lives. I'd hoped in a couple hundred years we could grow out of it."

"Maybe someday we will." 

"Now I'll drink to that." Hawkeye downed the rest of Bones' bourbon. He was so damn tired.


	2. In which we find out what the deal is with the goats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Enterprise arrives at Organia. Back in Ottumwa, Peg has a heart to heart with BJ.

Radar hardly recognized himself without his glasses. His dress uniform, newly made from Army specs, fit him better than the one he'd left in Korea. Klinger was wearing a knee length embroidered tunic made of some silky peach fabric, with brocade pants underneath. It was awfully fancy for a guy to wear, but the line between guy and girl clothes was awfully fuzzy in the future. Or, he supposed, the present.

The door chimed. "Come in," he said to it, and it slid open all by itself. Captain Hawkeye stood outside the door to the quarters Klinger and Radar had shared for the last couple of days. He, too, was out of uniform. He tugged on his deep indigo suit jacket and frowned disapproval down at Radar. "We're representing the human race, Radar, not the United States Army."

"Lieutenant Uhura said we should be dressed up, and this is what dressed up looks like on me. Like it or lump it."

"Major Houlihan coming with us?"

Radar nodded. "M'Benga cleared her for light duty this morning, I think just so she could go down with us. The Organians are never going to know what hit them."

Radar picked up a hairbrush, ran his thumb over it, and set it back down unused. "You scared? Of meeting them, I mean. I hear they're made out of clouds and they don't like human people much."

"Radar, I don't know if these Organians have already made their minds up about Earth, or if they're going to want to listen to the likes of the four of us. But billions," he stopped and swallowed, "Billions of people are counting on us to plead our case, and I can't do anything but my best. Lives depend on it."

"Like when you operate on somebody?"

Hawkeye mussed his own hair. "Yeah, like that. You'll see when we get there. The fear changes. It clarifies everything you see, everything you hear. It turns into power--but only just as long as you need it to."

The door chimed again. "Come in!" the three of them said in unison, then Radar and Klinger laughed.

"You three ready?" Captain Una said from the doorway. Uhura and Major Houlihan stood one on either side of her. "You're out of uniform," Houlihan gritted.

"I intend that state to be permanent, Major," Hawkeye said, smiling.

To be truthful, Radar had never expected to still be alive at this point, much less in a spaceship around a completely different planet. He had no idea what would happen once they were down. Either nothing was decided at all or those Organians were stopping him from seeing on purpose. He felt like he wasn't attached to anything, like a piece of paper caught in a fresh breeze. At least the uniform was familiar. He rubbed his sweaty hands on the jacket.

The three of them walked down blue-white hallways that had become familiar over the two and a half days they'd been on the Enterprise. Left here to get to the mess, right for the turbolift to go to Sickbay. They turned down a hallway he didn't remember and arrived in a room with a blocky console and circles set into part of the floor. Captain Una and Lieutenant Uhura each stood on a circle. Uhura gestured to a circle beside her and Radar planted his feet on it. His nerves were making him hot and cold and queasy, but he fixed his eyes on a corner of the console and counted his breaths like Spock said to do and hoped nobody noticed. Behind them, Major Houlihan, Hawkeye who didn't want to be called Captain anymore, and Klinger arranged themselves on their own circles.

"Now stay right there and hold still like you're posing for a picture," the man behind the console said, and in a moment, Radar's whole body started to tingle. He felt a moment of swooping dizziness and his vision shimmered out, then he was standing on dusty ground outside a low stone wall. The air was cool and smelled of lilacs.

A man in late middle age strode toward them with relaxed purpose. "The last time your kind visited, you engaged in violent speech and behavior. I would have your word that you will acquit yourselves courteously."

"I certify that I and my men will respect you and your home," Major Houlihan said. Radar sighed with relief.

"It is not the behavior of you and yours which causes concern, it is these Starfleet people. Captain Una, do you certify the behavior of your crew?"

"I do."

"Very well. Come, I perceive that you would be better off discussing matters in a more comfortable setting." Ayelborne turned and walked through the gate into the village. Una and Major Houlihan led the rest of them in the Organian's wake. Radar stopped beside the stone wall to press his hand against it and brush the dust off it onto his fingers. He sniffed it. It smelled like dust ought to smell. The rest of them had gotten a few yards ahead of him so he had to jog to catch up.

He found himself walking next to Ayelborne and could no longer contain his curiosity. "How much of this place is real?" he asked.

"Radar!" Major Houlihan hissed.

He ducked his head. "Sorry."

"There is no need to apologize, young one. Our people find violence uncomfortable, even painful--as you well understand--but innocent curiosity is no burden. The plants and artifacts you see around you are as you perceive them. The people are my fellow Organians, having taken a form that allows greater ease of communication with the embodied."

What about the goats? he wondered, but held his tongue to avoid angering the Major.

Ayelborne chuckled. "The goats are also Organians, though their sense of humor is questionable."

Radar waved at a couple of the green tinged animals as they passed, and they returned his attention with solemn nods. They reached a rustic stone building with large wooden doors that opened on to a room dominated by a long table with benches on either side. A pitcher of water and cups had been provided. Three other Organians already sat at the table, one man and two women. "Please, sit, all of you," Ayelborne said.

Radar took a seat at the table between Uhura and Klinger. He knocked his knuckles against the wood, an action that earned him another smile from Ayelborne. 

The Organian spread his hands to indicate all of them. "We are already aware of the events which have led to your arrival. What is it that you wish of us?"

Radar startled and stared at Hawkeye, who was suddenly mad enough to throw sparks. "You knew? You knew and you could do something to save--how many people, Una? How many have already died?"

"Your outburst does not serve you, doctor," Ayelborne said, the bland smile never leaving his face.

Una kept her composure visibly but simmered underneath. "Twenty million, to a first approximation. As of two days ago."

Ayelborne addressed Hawkeye. "Your planet is not in the contested region, but resides in territory both the Federation and the Klingon Empire agree to belong to the Empire."

"Our planet shouldn't even be there!" Houlihan argued. "And it looks like whoever put it there knew exactly what they were setting up." 

"I will answer the question you have not asked for fear of giving offense. We did not duplicate the homeworld of humanity and place it in the hands of its adversary. The Federation refers to the ones who did this as the Grantville-Alexander entities. We call them the Assiti. And we have neither the inclination nor the ability to make such drastic alterations to spacetime. If we choose to interfere in one of their set pieces there could be consequences affecting the entire galaxy."

Radar felt as though hot coals had been poured into his middle. He clenched his hands under the table. "There's gotta be something you can do. Please." They'd come all this way.

One of the other Organians winced. Ayelborne turned to him, but the other dismissed his concern with a wave. "We will deliberate. In the meantime, the construct around you will provide shelter, and one of my kind will bring food and drink. The three Organians rose and left by the main door. 

"So now what do we do?" Hawkeye snapped, rising from his chair to pace.

"Wait until they come back I guess," Radar told them. "Can you guys maybe try not to be so angry?"

"Do you think it will really make a difference to them?" Hawkeye paced, heavy footed, around the table. He turned, shook his head, and sat back down. "Twenty million people! How can I not be angry?"

Radar looked down at his fidgeting fingers. "You could try being sad."

Hawkeye reached out a hand, then pulled it back to drum on the table. "Radar." Radar waited. Hawkeye's thoughts whirled, purple black and wordless. "Radar, I am sad. My whole body--my entire soul is weighed down with sadness, crushed under it. The only thing keeping me moving anymore is anger. So no, I'm not going to try being sad. Maybe you should try being angry."

He pushed away from the table and stalked off to stand by the wooden double doors. Beside Radar, Klinger said, "He doesn't mean anything by it."

Radar, shook his head. "Yeah, he does."

*

Truman's office still looked presidential. None of the skirmishes that marred parts of Blair House had taken place in this room, so the carpets remained pristine, the decor undamaged as yet. Harry Truman sat behind his desk, glad of the illusory distance it provided between him and his guard. He read over the list of regulations to be posted all over the country, translated and posted worldwide. Public gatherings limited to three or fewer. Conspiracy to rebellion punishable by death. Disrespect of Klingon authority punishable by death. The list was as long as it was predictable. A second sheet contained directives for Truman personally, to direct economic output to support the Klingon Empire, starting with agriculture. 

The first page of demands appeared coherent, if draconian. The second looked like it has been cobbled together by a ship's quartermaster with no real concept of how agriculture or food export logistics worked. The overwhelming emphasis on beef, pork, and grains over manufactured goods and raw materials suggested one piece of information to Truman: The Empire was hungry.

He lay aside the papers, not intending to sign them as required by Wakod and the other Klingons. He knew they could forge his signature and move ahead without his cooperation, but he didn't want to give them the satisfaction. By design, he did not know the whereabouts of his Vice President or the other government leaders who had managed to evade Klingon capture--most of whom had prices on their heads. MacArthur had blustered about the countryside for a couple of days, inciting acts of rebellion that had resulted in thousands of retaliatory deaths and culminated in the destruction of Chicago before they found and silenced him. Eisenhower was most likely buried in the ruins of Paris. 

Truman's only task was to maintain the charade, to provide a convincing decoy that would keep the occupiers from realizing that in the ways that really mattered, he was no longer the President. It was maddening to be out of the Intelligence loop, not to know what Barkley was doing or whether their request for aid was on its way. Every eight hours he went on the radio to give short addresses that he hoped would keep lives from being lost in vain. 

He reminded himself that he trusted Barkley, Ridgway, and Marshall with the future of the country. His part might not be the one he would have chosen, but as Milton once said, "They also serve who only stand and wait."

*

Peg was at the sink, drying and putting dishes away while Dr. McCoy "call me Len or Bones" washed. The house felt busy and full to bursting, which was comforting and nerve wracking all at once. She, BJ, and Erin had relocated to an upstairs bedroom so the alien amputee wouldn't have to navigate the stairs. The three time travelers shared the first floor guest room, the three other rooms up there occupied by Ed and Edna, who had been told in no uncertain terms that they would not be giving up their personal space by General George Marshall himself, Marshall Plan Marshall, who was sharing his own room with his aide. The four other officers bunked down in bedrolls on the living room floor. 

"Dr. McCoy," Peg said. It didn't feel appropriate to refer to him by any other name. She was a married woman, after all.

"Hmmm?" he said, dropping another handful of forks into her side of the sink.

"BJ told me the arm is pretty bad."

"Hurting him, is it?"

"No, but that's the problem, isn't it? He can't feel anything. It will kill him if he can't--if he can't be a doctor anymore."

McCoy dried his hands off and guided her to a seat at the dining table. "Peg. First off, he could be a doctor with just one arm. Most of medicine is up here." He tapped his temple. "But I'll be honest with you. If he only has access to this century's medical knowledge, the best he can hope for is maybe thirty percent. He should be able use it as a helper hand, but surgery--I just don't think so."

"But in your time, you'd just wave a magic wand and he'd be good as new, right?" Her voice rose at the end to a teary squeak. "Sorry, It's just--it's not fair."

"In my time, he's have been good as new if the wound had been treated right away. Delaying treatment the way we had to took a toll. If I can get him into surgery say, three or four days from now he's got a fair shot at getting seventy percent."

She didn't ask if that was good enough for surgery. "Does he know all that?"

"We've spoken about it. He'd like to give surgery on the Enterprise a try, provided we get the chance. But you need to talk to him about it. If I take him up, there's a chance we won't be allowed to bring him back--you and the baby might want to join him."

"Does that mean BJ's friends might not be able to come home either? Edna's son?"

McCoy sighed. "I just don't know. It's still possible that The Federation will invoke the Prime Directive, though I can't see how. It's also possible they'll cede the territory to the Empire and make us leave, in which case none of us is going anywhere without Mr. and Mrs. O'Reilly, BJ, you, and Erin."

"I'm not sure how I'd feel about jumping on a lifeboat if the worst should happen. It seems like a betrayal." She still hadn't gotten through to her own parents in Oklahoma in over a week, though the small town they lived near was probably of even less interest to any alien empires than Ottumwa.

"That's a decision you'll have to make when the time comes."

"I think I'm going to go see what BJ is up to." She left McCoy to put away the rest of the dishes. She'd thought that everything would be all right when BJ came home, but instead, the world had gone even more unsteady. Instead of heading for the guest room to see BJ right away, she slipped out the back door into the early evening. The sun was lower than the tree line, but the sky was still blue and the air pleasantly warm. She took a few steps outside, staying close to the building for safety as their guests had requested. The mosquitoes wasted no time in finding her, but she needed a few moments alone and was willing to pay for it in blood. 

Would BJ want to leave Earth to its own devices if the worst happened, or would he want to stay and do whatever he could to resist? Would he insist that she go? She felt like if he planned to stay and fight, she would stay with him, but then, Erin. If she had a chance at a better life, shouldn't they give it to her? Could she say goodbye to her little girl forever? She peered in the kitchen window to see Captain Kirk of all people swaying around the sitting room with Erin in his arms. Who would raise her? Certainly not career soldiers in space. 

She knew she was worrying over this problem in an effort to avoid thinking about an even more intractable one. She'd been avoiding BJ since the message from the Federation spaceship arrived in the afternoon. That was cowardice, and now that she recognized it, she didn't intend to tolerate it in herself any longer. She walked around to the front of the house followed by a growing cloud of mosquitoes and escaped indoors. The men were crowded into the living room, BJ sitting next to Kirk and telling some probably exaggerated story that featured the infamous Major Burns and a hot wired tank. She hooked his elbow. "Come sit with me."

Kirk's eyebrows waggled. A couple of other soldiers hooted their approval and she heard but didn't see the source of a wolf-whistle. Playing along was just easier, so she pasted a sly smile onto her face and started up the stairs with a little swish in her step to make her skirt curl about her calves. BJ hurried up the stairs to catch her around the waist. "Awfully crowded house for an assignation, don' t you think?"

Once they were upstairs, she stopped him in the hallway and turned him to face her, letting her eyes rest for a moment on his bound right hand before meeting his eyes. "We need to talk."

His face fell, but he nodded. She led him into their bedroom and closed the door. They needed to decide what to do about McCoy's offer. She needed to decide whether to follow BJ to the Enterprise when he had his surgery. And they needed to talk about the elephant not in the room. He sat down on the bed and patted the spot next to him. She sighed and sat. "Hawkeye."

"Hawkeye." BJ echoed. She could feel his body tense next to hers.

"Did you?"

He nodded. "I never wanted to hurt you, Peg. I convinced myself that if you just met him, you'd--you'd fall in love with him too."

She laughed without merriment. "I think I did a little. You're quite the salesman. But now, he's up there, on that ship, alive." And that was enough to bring a real smile to her lips. If he had died it would have broken BJ. "I do think you should let Dr. McCoy operate, see whether he can save the use of your hand."

"Will you and Erin come with me? Just in case?"

She sniffled. "It might be my only chance to visit a real space ship. Too bad Erin will be too young to remember."

He leaned forward to rest his forehead on hers and reached up to stroke her hair with his good hand. "I missed you so much, Peg. Loving," he stumbled over the word, "loving Hawkeye wasn't something I planned on. And it never once diminished how much I love you."

"I want to believe you, I do," she whispered. "I wouldn't have sent you that note if I hadn't meant for you to take it to heart." She scooted closer to him to lay her head on his shoulder. "You're going to have to tell me every sordid detail, you know."

"I plan a demonstration." His hand slipped down her back to tease at her behind. "To the extent our anatomy allows."

Peg was suddenly acutely aware of how long it had been since they'd been together. "I look forward to it, but,"

"But?" BJ's hand stilled and he looked at her with an expression that was so wounded she had to kiss the pout off his lips.

"Last thing, I promise. If things go badly--here--McCoy said they wanted us to come with them. I didn't know what you would think. Do we stay or go?"

BJ sighed. "If we can make a difference here, we should stay, but--"

"But Erin." Peg finished his thought.

"You and Erin should go."

"BJ Hunnicutt, I'd make a better resistance fighter than you would even if you had both your hands. You will go and take Erin with you." She swallowed a sudden tightness in her throat. 

"You're right," he said. "You are so much more the soldier than I am. But I won't leave you here alone." He swallowed and blinked back tears.   
"It's not fair, I've barely gotten to see her!"

"What?"

BJ's expression firmed. "We stay. We send Erin with Ed and Edna O'Reilly."

Did she owe that much to the world, to say goodbye to her little girl forever? She thought of her parents, of not knowing whether they were okay. And then the faces of her friends, the ones who had stayed in San Francisco, filled her vision unbidden. They were almost certainly not okay. "Maybe those Organians or whoever will make this whole mess go away."

"Maybe," BJ said. "I wonder what they'll want in return."

"I'll talk to Mrs. O'Reilly about taking Erin in the morning," she said by way of agreement with the plan.

He dropped away from her onto the bed. She rolled so they lay face to face. "You led me up here under false pretenses."

"You still owe me that demonstration," she teased. "Another time, though. If you get all excited and hurt your arm Dr. McCoy will eat me for breakfast."

"That's my job."

"You absolute cad!" she tapped his cheek in an ersatz slap. He returned the gesture with a tap to her bottom. She sat up to wiggle out of her dress and pushed him over onto his back, the better to protect his arm, then crawled over him to reacquaint herself with the warm solidity of his body. 


	3. In which Sidney writes a letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Organians make an offer to Houlihan, Klinger, Hawkeye, and Radar. Other members of the 4077th aid refugees outside Tokyo.

Hawkeye paced until his legs went rubbery, then sprawled on the bench beside the table until his restlessness reached his legs again, then rose again to circle the large, blank walled room. Radar sat with Uhura, their heads bent over her datapad. She'd decided to see if he had a head for languages by pulling up a Vulcan language primer, though Hawkeye suspected she was just trying to distract him. Now and then he'd make a hesitant attempt at saying something or other and she'd chuckle at him and repeat it back. Hawkeye could use a distraction himself. The racing of his heart left him feeling as winded as on those long nights when snipers or shelling drove them all under desks for the illusion of safety.

"Anybody bring a deck of cards?" Klinger asked.

"I wish," Hawkeye said. Cards would give him something to do with his hands. He wiped his sweating palms on his pants. 

"I got a pack in my pocket," Radar said.

"Like I'm ever gonna play poker with you again, cheater," Hawkeye teased.

Radar stuck out his tongue. The doors opened ponderously and without warning and Radar sucked his tongue back into his mouth and blushed pink. Ayelborne appeared not to notice Radar's embarrassment. He paused, flanked by two companions, just inside the door. "We have considered your request. While we have intervened in this region of space before for our own security, we dislike interfering with the development of organic species."

Hawkeye's chest burned. His hands curled into fists, but he deliberately opened them and swallowed the sharp words before they could escape his mouth. Ayelborne favored him with a sharp look and continued. "However, we believe that the Assiti's placement of the duplicated world within our sphere of influence was deliberate. We resent this intrusion and wish to send a message to that effect. Consequently, we offer a choice to the four inhabitants of the duplicate present today." He made a gathering gesture. Klinger moved to sit next to Radar. Hawkeye and Houlihan walked over to stand nearby. 

When they were all paying attention, Ayelborne went on. "If you agree, we will ensure that no one will be able to commit physical violence against anyone on the planet or for a distance of one light-year around it. If you wish to be protected from warlike others, you will learn to solve your problems without resorting to your own warlike nature. You may be assured that we are capable of instituting this restriction and maintaining it in perpetuity."

"What about the Grantville-Alexander entities? The Assiti, I mean. What might they do in response?" Una asked. 

"There is a risk that they will respond negatively to our interference. If they do, I cannot predict the consequences. Do you wish time to consult with one another before making your decision?"

Hawkeye didn't want to take the chance that the Organians would change their minds. "No, we'll take the deal!" he said.

Houlihan glared at him. "We'll need some time to talk it over."

Ayelborne frowned slightly. "We will leave you to discuss. When you come to a decision, we will return." He and his companions swept out of the room and the door closed behind them again.

"I don't see the downside here." An end to war. An end to the endless stream of young mangled bodies through his operating room. It seemed that whatever they might have to lose paled beside that.

Houlihan shook her head. "You're so naive, Pierce. We need to know exactly what these aliens plan to do with our planet. How are they going to enforce nonviolence? Are we going to trade one totalitarian invasion for another?"

"One that would have a lower body count," Hawkeye argued. 

"Not necessarily," Houlihan said. "Captain Una, how do the Organians keep Federation and Klingon ships from shooting at each other in the demilitarized zone?"

Una gestured toward the benches. Once Hawkeye and Houlihan slid into their seats the captain explained, "When we try to engage each other, our controls feel too hot to touch. That effect appears to be illusory, but attempts to use the weapons systems anyway causes first them, then the entire ship to power down. Records indicate that attempts at direct combat result in hand weapons feeling too hot to hold, and in one instance, bodies themselves seeming to radiate intense heat."

Hawkeye thought. "So would that mean no one would be able to touch anyone?"

"I doubt that, but we should find out," she said. 

She was right after all, unfortunately. They did need to clarify the details of this deal before they signed on. "We need to make sure we can still practice medicine. The number of people who would die if it were not possible to start an IV or give an injection..."

Uhura pulled out her datapad to make a note of Hawkeye's questions.

Radar chewed his lip. "You're right. They haven't had bodies in a really long time. They might have forgotten how they work. If people couldn't, you know, um, then there couldn't be any, um, you know, babies."

"I am not giving up sex," Hawkeye insisted.

Houlihan snorted. "I can't imagine they're that ignorant of biology."

"I can," Uhura said.

"Those are all good questions. So, let's assume for the moment that sex and surgery and using explosives in construction are all still on the table. What else do we need to worry about?" Houlihan seemed to assume she was in charge in spite of Hawkeye and Klinger deciding they were civilians no matter what the Army had to say about it. 

Klinger stabbed the table with a finger. "What about crime?" 

"What about it?" Hawkeye asked. "There ought to be a lot less crime."

"They didn't say anything about keeping people from stealing or breaking things," Klinger said. "Or conning people."

Hawkeye threw up his hands. "I'm not saying we're going to get Utopia in a day. But the offer they're making would save so many lives even if there weren't Klingons dropping nukes on us. How can we say no?"

"What if they decide that stopping violent acts doesn't go far enough? What if they start trying to make all of our decisions for us?" Klinger fingered the end of his sleeve. "I hate to say it, but giving them that much power might be worse than what the Klingons have planned for us."

Uhura nodded grimly. "Satin lined shackles are still shackles."

Hawkeye's train of thought went unbidden toward satin lined shackles and he hoped the Organians weren't reading his mind, then he cast a guilty glance at Radar, whose cheeks turned bright red. Hawkeye burst out laughing. Radar caught his mirth and covered his face with both hands to hide his giggles.

"What?" Uhura paused to consider, then rolled her eyes. "Men."

Houlihan picked up Klinger's question. "Seems like we're giving away a lot of our ability to make our own choices."

"We did that a long time ago when we let a few people with all the power and all the money play games with the lives of people without either." Hawkeye pushed away from the the table to stand and pace again. "So don't act like we were really free before. If I was I sure as hell wouldn't have ended up in Korea."

"This is different," Houlihan said.

Klinger sighed. "I don't know that it is."

Houlihan seemed to notice Radar was present for the first time in a while. "What about you? Do you have an opinion? A premonition?"

Radar opened his mouth, shut it, and scrubbed at his cap. "I'm just a kid," he said, then negated his words with a little headshake before . "If we say yes, the war ends. All of the wars. If we say no, it doesn't look so good for Earth." 

"I think we've gone as far as we can without getting some answers," Houlihan said. 

Even as she finished speaking, the wooden doors creaked open to admit Ayelborne, this time alone. He walked smoothly and slowly to the table and sat down, folding his hands in front of him. "You have questions."

"We do," Houlihan said.

"You may ask. I will endeavor to answer."

Houlihan looked from Hawkeye, to Klinger and Radar. "We need to know how the proscription against violence would work. Captain Una described weapons and bodies heating up, and instruments becoming nonfunctional."

"Objects wielded with the intent to harm will seem hot to the touch as a warning. If further attempts are made to cause harm, they will then become too heavy to lift or move."

"What about if somebody tried to punch somebody?" Klinger asked.

The look on Ayelborne's face showed the disgust with which he viewed such an event, though it wasn't possible to tell whether he was disgusted by the idea of using one's own body as a weapon or by the mere concept of bodies. "The target's body will appear to radiate heat, and if the offender continues to attack, they will be temporarily paralyzed."

Houlihan noted, "Total paralysis is lethal to humans within a couple of minutes."

"Breathing centers will not be affected." Ayelborne's voice took on that particular patient tone used with the insufferably dim. "There are risks associated with every means of modifying behavior. However, biological entities such as yourselves seem to have proven incapable of controlling your impulses."

Hawkeye bit back his retort to allow Houlihan to continue. "Will your intervention be limited to preventing violent action? Do you plan to make us give up countries or money like the Federation?"

"You won't have to give up nation-states or the concept of money for Federation protection," Una corrected.

"We will not otherwise interfere with your development as a species." Ayelborne's tone grew weary.

Hawkeye broke in again. "So, about sex."

Ayelborne paused in seeming disbelief. "I was unaware that," a pause and a grimace, "sex included harmful intent."

"If you can stop that kind of thing, more power to you." That came out a little more vehemently than Hawkeye had intended. "But sometimes a little pain is part of the fun."

Ayelborne looked like he would have liked to get up and walk out of the room. "It may take some time to calibrate the algorithm to account for biological--tastes." He focused deliberately on Klinger. "Your culinary preferences will be taken into account as well."

"So you'll be in all of our heads all the time, deciding whether we want to hurt somebody?" Radar looked decidedly sick.

Ayelborne took a moment to respond. "It is a necessary consequence of the cessation of hostilities. Your thoughts and emotional processes will not be interfered with, only your capacity to cause harm through your actions. The process will be somewhat--what is the word you would use--automated? That is, our attention and judgment will not be closely focused upon individuals. Where ambiguity exists, we will err on the side of noninterference."

Houlihan stood. "I still say no. We haven't even found out if the Federation can help us yet, and if we're going to need to ally ourselves with another power I'd rather one more like us."

"I feel like we're auditioning a new set of gods, not allies," Klinger added.

Hawkeye also stood up, mirroring Houlihan. "I say yes. I think Ayelborne here is right. We had our chance as a species and we clearly can't be trusted with sharp objects."

Radar shrunk into his uniform jacket. "We, um, know the answers to our questions now. I think we should talk without you watching us."

Ayelborne's eyes rested on Radar before passing over all of them. "For your own sakes, do not take too long."

*

Sidney retied the wet rag around his face. The air smelled acrid and bitter, not the almost clean smell of woodsmoke, but the smell of an entire city indiscriminately pulverized and burned. They'd set up camp a few miles south of the city, near Yokohama, where the roads and buildings were intact if covered by a thickening layer of ashy dust. The sky had a distinctly hazy cast, more a faded lilac than blue, with flickers of sheet lightning to the northeast. He began composing a letter in his head. Dear...who? Jung? Carl Rogers? He remembered the morning's dispatch, only an hour old, and hoped grimly that his colleague had made it out of Chicago.

> _Dear...Bones,_

> _I hope this morning, or evening for you I suppose, finds you well and as safe as can be expected. Several of us have been assigned to staff a MASH unit outside Tokyo, though we are bailing the sea with a teaspoon. Colonel Potter is running the place with his usual irascible practicality. Dr. Winchester and Dr. Jones--you never met him, good man, fantastic surgeon, I'm sure you'd like him--are here, along with Father Mulcahy and several of our nurses._

> _Yesterday you would have recognized the place, a few tents set up beside a warehouse and administration building to be repurposed as a ward and a surgery. Overnight we've grown into a tent city. The refugees keep pouring in, carrying parcels and bags and children on their backs. My station is at the decontamination showers. The weapons the Klingons used produce only a tiny amount of radioactive fallout, which is a small comfort, but we all spend our days covered with the ash of the city settling onto our bodies, more so the survivors who have been walking without shelter for over a day. I've taken four showers already today, partly to skim off the toxic dust. We've been taking turns, one of us going in with each group of refugees. It's still too soon for powerless people trust a white face ordering them into a shower._

> _Charles has grown into his role as Potter's second in command. He has taken a particular interest in the children, especially those arriving without parents. It is rare to see him without an infant in one arm and a train of little ones following him from place to place like ducklings. He has even managed to find a phonograph and a few suitable records for what is quickly becoming the MASH orphanage._

> _Dr. Jones still struggles with those who see his skin color and look no further. The refugees are for the most part polite, though a few have requested others treat their wounds. Potter told them in no uncertain terms that there were more than enough patients lined up and if they didn't want Jones to patch them up they could just keep walking south until they found a camp more to their liking. I hope the translator managed to capture the flavor of our CO's speech. Jones, for his part, has been in surgery almost nonstop, debriding burns and repairing wounds that aren't so different from the shrapnel injuries you saw in Korea. He's pretending he's fine, but when we get a break, if we get a break, he's going to crash and crash hard._

> _Father Mulcahy , as always, has stepped into a counselor's shoes with grace and compassion, and I have caught him spending his spare moments in conversation with our interpreters on the spiritual needs of the Japanese fleeing their homes. He tells me that the loss of the sense of place, the need to abandon homes where ancestors are buried and remembered is especially wearing on them. He has set the older children collecting small, smooth stones from a stream near here. The interpreter has been writing the names of the lost, one on each stone, and giving them to families for safekeeping. It's a small thing, but small things are all we have now._

> _I wish I had time to sit with Colonel Potter. He has seen so much in his life and not broken, but I fear that this will be the war that breaks him. Charles has tried to corner him for a physical exam, but every time he claims there's no time to spare. He spends all his time on the radio, begging for supplies and personnel and his voice sounds suddenly old, frail in a way that suggests something beyond mere tiredness. He is breathless, and I am worried._

Sidney wondered if the letter might actually reach Bones McCoy in anything like a reasonable amount of time if he tried to post it. It seemed doubtful. He decided that it could remain in his notebook along with his letters to the long dead and newly unlamented Sigmund, who was becoming a cautionary tale in his mind. The man had been brilliant, insightful, but had lacked the courage of his convictions when it mattered most. He hoped that if he found himself in similar circumstances, he would show himself to be a better man.

For now, he stripped off his clothes for another cluster of frightened Japanese men and boys and took another cold shower.


	4. In which fateful decisions are made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klingons arrive in Ottumwa. The delegation on Organia arrive at a decision.

The knocking on the bedroom door was loud, insistent, and accompanied by a man's voice shouting, "Captain Hunnicutt! Mrs. Hunnicutt! You need to come downstairs right away. Bring the baby with you." 

Her back was suddenly cool, BJ having rolled out of bed before Peg even got her eyes open. Behind her, BJ swore quietly, then said a little louder, "Help me with my pants, would you honey?"

She stood, stumbled a moment while her feet caught up with the rest of her, and helped him tug his pajama pants the rest of the way to his waist, then knelt to tie the drawstring. Erin was asleep in the Moses basket, so she lifted the entire thing and slid in behind Ed O'Reilly in the line of rushing, sleep fogged people navigating the narrow staircase. The officer on watch waited until all fourteen of them were clustered in the living room before speaking. "We have word that a Klingon platoon is searching Ottumwa for the assets." Assets. He must mean Kirk, Spock, and Bones. As if they were pieces of equipment. Dr. Bones, standing just behind her in the guest room doorway, shifted his weight uncomfortably.

Mrs. O'Reilly tucked her housecoat around her. Her hair was down and wild, but her expression was firm, almost businesslike. "We could hide everyone in the storm cellar.” She paused, as though counting in her head. “Most everyone. It will be a tight fit."

Peg looked out the window at the rain falling in sheets, then down at her summer nightgown and bare feet. "How far is it?"

"Midway between here and the barn," Edna supplied. 

"All right, good plan." The officer of the watch pushed his way to the front door. "It's decided. Let's go, let's go, let's go!"

They all swept out the door and into the rain soaked night before she had a chance to think about it too hard, splashing through chilly puddles and caking her feet and the hem of her nightgown with mud. Ed pulled open the slanted door to the storm cellar and started to help Edna inside, but was held back by one of the soldiers. The soldier pointed to Kirk. "Captain Kirk, Commander Spock, and Dr. McCoy, you're first." Peg curled her body over the Moses basket in hopes that it would stay dry.

Dr. McCoy gave the soldier a murderous glare, but followed Kirk into the storm cellar, keeping a steadying arm on Spock.

"Mr. Marshall, you're next, then the women and the baby." By the time they got down there, nestled among last fall's canned tomatoes and beans, it was already crowded. "Mr. O'Reilly, Captain Hunnicutt." Five more men were still outside. "Can you take two more?" the soldier shouted into the cellar.

"Yes, maybe three," Edna shouted back.

Marshall's young aide and one of the four soldiers, a Lieutenant she thought was called Al ...Something, made their way down the ladder just as Edna got a lantern lit. Al Something closed the door on the other three soldiers and stationed himself, crouching, by the ladder. He pulled out his gun to wipe it down and checked inside it, then reholstered it.

Wooden planks ran the length of the shelter for seating. Peg found herself squeezed between the alien on one side and Edna on the other. Across from her Mr. Marshall Plan Marshall sat so close the Moses basket sat across both of their knees. Peg shivered. At least the low light and the Moses basket on her lap kept her from giving the men too much of a free show. She abruptly became acutely aware that her soaking wet, barely clad body was pressed against the man beside her--the alien beside her--from shoulders to knees. "How will we know when it's safe to come out?" she whispered.

The Lieutenant's eyes widened and he shook his head once, sharply, and put a finger to his lips. Peg bowed her head, mortified. Water poured through the cracks around the cellar door and puddled around their feet. A few drops soaked into her hair and pattered on the outside of Erin's basket. The baby squeaked once, then quieted. All eyes turned to Peg again. The sound of the rain on the cellar door grew softer, changed from a continuous hiss to separate, tapping droplets. 

Erin squeaked again and squirmed in her basket. Peg curled over the basket to shush her as quietly as she could and to keep from having to see the rest of them looking at her. Erin waved her arms and whined. Peg looked up just long enough to mouth "basket" at Marshall Plan Marshall and reached in to scoop her daughter into her arms. The basket was passed forward to BJ. Erin’scries were the only sound, amplified by the small space and Peg's fear. She tucked Erin to her chest, bouncing and shushing, but as soon as she got her arm tucked around the baby's bottom she could tell Erin wasn't going to settle without a diaper change.

Al looked away from the door. "You gotta shut her up," he whispered.

"I'm trying," she mouthed back. "Shh, shh, shh, baby, I know, I know." Was there a diaper in the basket? She pulled the pins out of the diaper Erin had on, bouncing and murmuring all the while. "Diaper. Or blanket," she whispered, pointing at the basket. BJ rummaged through the basket and came up with a baby blanket, which he wordlessly tossed to her. She cleaned Erin up as well as she could one-handed, in the dark, with nothing but the soiled diaper to work with, and wrapped the lower half of her body in the blanket. Erin, by no means mollified by the makeshift change, clutched at Peg's shirt and let out a wail.

"Shut. Her. Up," Marshall's aide hissed.

"I'm trying," she whispered back, close to tears herself. She didn't have a bottle for her, it was cold and damp, and holding Erin against her dripping nightgown had gotten the baby even wetter.

"If you don't silence that child we are all dead," Al whispered harshly. "There's not enough rain to cover the noise."

"I'm trying, I'm trying," Peg said, turning Erin and brushing her hand over the baby's hair and face. Erin wailed. "Please, baby, shhhhhhhh." She put her hand over the baby's mouth, but the muffled cries still filled the small space. She’d have to push harder. She didn’t want to push harder. Her heart slammed against her ribcage.

"Give her to me," the alien beside her said. He was already reaching across her body to take Erin. 

"What are you going to do?" she asked, her voice sounding shrill and frightened in her ears. Lean, strong hands tucked themselves under Erin and lifted her away, and suddenly Erin was silent, cut off in mid cry. Peg looked, and in the dim light she could see a slack hand and foot dangling over the alien's arm. "What did you do to her?" she cried, much too loudly.

"Spock," a soft voice said.

She looked around for the source of the voice, but something brushed across her shoulder and everything went dark.

*

"I hate to say it, but I think maybe we ought to take our chances with the Federation." Klinger's tone was apologetic. Radar chewed his lip. The hollow under his ribcage burned and the conflict between the members of the 4077th kept him unbalanced and scared.

Major Houlihan nodded her agreement. "I don't like the idea of letting these people, whatever they are, have that much control over Earth--over everyone on Earth. Over me."

Hawkeye shook his head. "We're safe on the Enterprise, no matter what happens. We don't have to go back to Earth if we don't want to. Nobody else has that option, not my dad, not yours. Are you okay with sentencing them to a fate worse than what the Nazis could have come up with? Forced labor camps and mass murder for the slightest hint of rebellion?" He paced the room, his arms tracing wide arcs as emotion burst out of him. "Humanity is cruel enough to each other, but I don't think even we deserve that ending."

"The Federation--" Houlihan said.

Hawkeye shouted, "What, so we can be in the middle of a war for years? Decades, maybe? How much of the Earth we remember will be left after something like that?" Radar smelled burned plastic and frost.

"How much of the Earth we remember would survive this?" Klinger shouted back.

Radar's shoulders crawled up until they were sitting just below his ears. He put his hands over his ears and yelled over the din, "Stop, you guys! Just stop it!"

Everyone fell silent. After a moment, Houlihan said, "You've got to know something, Radar. What happens to Earth if we tell the Organians where they can put their offer?"

"I don't know. I mean, I mean, you guys have been fighting and it's too loud in here. I haven't tried to see." 

"Let's all take five, okay?" Klinger said. “Radar, what do you need?”

Radar could feel all the eyes in the room on him. “Just, gimme a minute. Let me think.” He turned to face away, closed his eyes, and made himself take slow breaths, allowing there and then to capture his attention. He tried to imagine his house, and the cornfield behind. The house was gone, burned to the ground. The old stove was the only part he could recognize among the ashes. The corn was brown and wilted, like an early frost had taken it out half-grown. A very early frost, maybe as early as July. It smelled like disease and soot. He shivered. But there was too much to sort through. He didn't know if there was a way through, or what their chances were. 

Slow down and think it through, he told himself, and for once it sounded like his own voice was saying the words. He picked up the threads that connected him to everyone he knew--everyone he loved--and he traced them to their ends, one at a time. Just shadows, he told himself. Not real, not yet. There wasn't any more time. He stood deliberately, straightened his uniform, and addressed his superior officers. "If we don't agree to the Organians' terms, it's gonna cost us."

"What do you mean, Radar?" Houlihan asked.

"Commander Spock and Dr. Bones," he said first. "My uncle Ed." He turned to look at Hawkeye. "BJ Hunnicutt and Colonel Potter. I'm not as sure about Captain Kirk. Or my Ma. All I know is we don't got a lot of time."

He could feel the Major's  _ No _ as loud as if she'd screamed it, but she stood there and nodded like he was giving her a supply report. Still, her voice caught a little when she asked, "What about Earth as a whole?"

"Don't know. Most everybody I know doesn't last till winter."

Houlihan sighed. "Then we've been arguing about the consequences of a choice that isn't really a choice at all."

"I suppose we have been." Klinger drooped over the table.

The doors creaked open, and Ayelborne walked in with his companions. "Have you made your choice?"

Radar nodded. He looked to Houlihan and Klinger, straightened his uniform, and said, "We accept your offer, on one condition."

"Condition?" Ayelborne asked. Radar wasn't sure whether he was amused or angry.

"Our bodies. No one can hurt anyone with an object, something that's not a part of them, but you leave our bodies alone. Being moved around like puppets--that would be worse than dying." He looked Ayelborne in the eye, even though he wanted to look anywhere else. 

"Thank you, Radar," Major Houlihan said quietly, and he acknowledged her with a small nod.

Ayelborne was still for a moment. He turned to his companions on either side, then all three bowed their heads gravely. "It is done."

Radar's courage left him all at once and he had to sit down on the stone floor. He forced out one last question. “But are we in time?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commence yelling?


	5. In which Klingons and humans lay down their arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The effects of the Organians interdiction on weapons begins to be felt.

Framed in the viewscreen, the planet turned below, blue and white now liberally streaked with gray haze. Wakod scowled at it from the bridge of his ship. "Who was it, Yruq?" he asked.

"Wek. He drowned. The humans claim it was an accident."

"Honorless vermin. Tekad, target the largest population center on that southern continent."

"Yes, sir."

Wakod strode to the center of the bridge to get the best view. "One kilogram payload. Fire when ready."

After a pause the weapons tech, Tekad, responded, "Torpedo away. Time on target thirty-four seconds."

"Captain," Yruq said.

"What is it, Yruq?"

"That is the sixteenth photon torpedo detonation. We are damaging the planetary climate with each. If we continue, our prize will be valueless."

"And the potential threat posed by a planet full of humans in our territory will be neutralized. Colonization will be easier on a nearly empty planet." 

Yruq faced him down for a few seconds, then ducked his head smartly in deference to Wakod.

Tekad spoke. "Captain."

"What now, Tekad?"

The torpedo. It failed to detonate."

"Fire another. And get me the name of the engineering tech who loaded that one."

"Yes, Sir. Torpedo away."

Wakod waited another minute, restlessly rolling the leather strap on his wrist guard between his fingers. "I see nothing."

"That one failed too, Captain." 

Wakod flew forward, drew his dagger, and plunged it toward the fool at the weapons console. The knife sizzled in his hand, then clattered to the floor. The weapons tech exploded to his feet, his eyes darting from Wakod's hands, to his face, to the weapon lying on the deck between them. Wakod stared at his hand, expecting to see blistering burns. It was unmarred.

"Captain," his comm officer said, "I'm getting reports from our warriors on the ground that weapons on both sides have stopped functioning."

"Cursed Organians!" Wakod gave himself over to a couple of minutes of imaginative invective before dropping into his chair. "Pull everyone back to the ships. Humans may be weak, miserable cowards, but they outnumber us ten million to one. There is no honor in presenting ourselves for slaughter."

*

Leonard kept one arm snugly wrapped around Jim. On the other side, Spock sat curled around the baby, whose mother lay propped, still unconscious, against Ed McMann's shoulder. The Vulcan's face, in the dim light, had a soft, almost awed look. No one spoke, even shifting their weight seemed unbearably loud. Minutes passed, and an hour. It didn't get any warmer and with the humidity in the tiny storm cellar, they didn't get any drier either. Jim's lungs didn't need this, not with Enterprise more than two days out. You better not catch pneumonia, he thought.

The baby was at risk of hypothermia too, come to think of it. He reached out to touch her, but she was warm, her tiny lips pursed as she nestled into Spock's chest. McCoy rested his hand just below Spock's collarbone and confirmed he was doing some Vulcan meditation thing or other to raise his body temperature. He made a thumbs-up sign to BJ at the other end of the storm cellar and was rewarded with a tight smile.

Every language has a particular sound to it that makes it identifiable even when it's too muffled to make out individual words. There's a rhythm, a key, a specific suite of vowels and consonants. As soon as he heard shouting outside he could identify clipped Klingon. A burst of gunfire made half of them flinch. Another followed, and then a harsh, human-pitched cry. Mrs. O'Reilly gripped her brother's hands from where they sat across from one another. Silence improved their chances, but it was likely the Klingons had sensors that would pick up their life signs if they got close enough to the shelter.

They didn't have to wait long after all. Soon he could hear branches and other refuse, presumably piled over them by the men left outside, being removed to the sound of barked orders. Gray-green light seeped through the cracks in the cellar door, striping Lieutenant Woolley's face. Leonard saw his sidearm coming up and said, "Don't shoot! We're not worth a city."

The door swung open and arms reached down to pull Woolley up and out. He could see Klingon boots from his spot at the back of the cellar, though Woolley was quickly dragged out of sight. "Come out. One at a time," a Klingon grunted in accented Standard.

Marshall's aide climbed out first, then Ed, looking shaky and pale. BJ, then Edna followed. Spock collected his crutches and passed Leonard the baby, who passed her on to Jim so he could carry Peg. It was just after dawn, but the low clouds hid the sun. Leonard adjusted the unconscious woman in his arms, glad she was small and slightly built. Beside him, Ed hunched over slightly. He saw no sign of the three soldiers they'd left outside. 

"Which ones are the Starfleet men?" one Klingon asked another.

"Humans all look alike," the other replied. He looked closely at Leonard. "Take the woman inside. Dor, follow him. If he gives you trouble, kill her."

Leonard carried Peg into the house and lay her on the couch. As soon as he stood back up, the Klingon with him gestured to the door with his disruptor. Leonard looked from Peg, helpless on the couch, to the Klingon, not wanting to leave her alone with him. "Return to the others," Dor said, repeating the gesture.

Reluctantly, he left her, worried that even asking to stay would be the kind of trouble that would get BJ's wife killed. He met Ed and Edna on the way, walking together toward the house. Edna had Erin tucked into one arm and was supporting Ed with the other. Ed stumbled. He stopped to touch Ed on the wrist. "You don't look so good." 

"I'm all right. Go on," Ed said, stopping between the phrases to breathe. Leonard shifted his grip to take a pulse, looked into the man's face, and saw the pale, bluish shadow around the lips. 

"Edna, give him an aspirin and make him rest." She nodded and started back to the house. McCoy returned to his place beside Marshall.

"Put the Vulcan over there." The highest ranking Klingon gestured with his chin. Two others grabbed Spock and shoved him to the ground a couple of meters from the rest of the prisoners. BJ Hunnicutt, Marshall and his aide, Lieutenant Woolley, Kirk, and McCoy stood in a cluster by the shelter. "Which one of you is Kirk?"

After a moment, Hunnicutt stepped forward. "I am."

Leonard could see Jim opening his mouth to protest and Woolley gripping his arm hard enough to bruise.

"Listen, humans," the Klingon in charge said. He paced in front of all of them. "I will be returning to my ship with Captain Kirk, Commander Spock, and Dr. McCoy. The rest of you primitives will be left to scratch in the ground for grain like fowl. However, if you attempt to conceal them among your number, I will burn your land and grind your ashes into the earth. Do I make myself clear?"

They all stood quietly in line.

"I said, do I make myself clear?"

"Abundantly," Leonard said, stepping forward. Dor was in the house. There were three Klingons standing and one more lying on the ground. "Is he dead?"

"He is of no consequence."

"When you decide every one of you is worth a million of us, that seems pretty consequential. Let me have a look at him, at least."

"And who are you?"

"Leonard McCoy." And that ought to keep anyone else from pulling another stunt like BJ's.

"Very well. You may examine him." He turned to one of the others. "Achun, put Kirk with the Vulcan."

The Klingon collected Hunnicutt and shoved him down next to Spock. Leonard hurried over to the one on the ground and ran his scanner over him. He'd been hit low in the body, near a kidney. If he didn't bleed out, he'd likely recover. He set about packing the wound with gauze. The Klingon growled and bared his teeth.

Leonard growled back, "Lie still so you don't bleed out. I'll thank you to wait until I finish before you bash my head in." The rain was starting up again, and with it the thunder and lightning that would keep any transporters from being used.

"Get them inside," the leader said. Two collected their wounded comrade, and the other herded their prisoners inside. Leonard looked for Ed as soon as he was in the door. Ed sat on the end of the couch by Peg's feet, leaning against the arm of the couch and supporting his head with his hand. His mouth was a pale, tight line. 

Leonard took a step toward him but froze when one of them barked, "Stop. Stay where you are."

"This man is ill. I need to examine him," Leonard argued.

"The old man is useless. It would be better for him if he died quickly. Go stand by Kirk and the Vulcan." He pulled out his communicator. "Gesh, beam the three Starfleet prisoners up as soon as the ion storm clears."

Leonard stalked over to Spock and BJ and stood, arms crossed, watching Ed struggle to stay conscious. Jim gave BJ's name when ordered rather than have him caught in a lie. Edna was allowed to put Erin in dry clothes and was sitting in the rocker with her, sneaking occasional worried looks at her and then at Ed. The storm stalled overhead. The Klingons roamed the house, idle and bored, terrorizing Edna's mouser and raiding the refrigerator and pantry.

Ed pitched off the couch with a groan and rolled onto the rug. Edna slid out of the rocker to kneel on the floor beside him, calling his name. The leader of the Klingons turned toward her and, almost casually, pointed the disruptor at her and the baby and before Leonard could get out a shout of protest, pulled the trigger.

And dropped the gun to the floor with a shout. "She is not Federation!" he protested with his face pointed to the ceiling, shaking his hand to cool phantom burns..

So the Organians had made their decision. Leonard slipped past their Klingon captor to crouch beside Ed. "He's still breathing," he told Edna. 

There was a scuffle behind him. He muttered to Edna. "Take the baby and lock yourself in the car."

She nodded. Around him, Woolley, Marshall, Jim, Spock, and BJ were fighting their three Klingon captors. Apparently hand to hand combat was not prohibited by this interdiction--unfortunately for the smaller and weaker humans. It was not a fair fight by any means, but it did occupy the three Klingons enough to allow Edna to slip out the front door. He fished through his bag for a clotbuster--hadn't been too much call for those in Korea--and some morphine he'd picked up in Seoul and slotted the ampules into the hypospray. It was too damn bad he'd used up the last of the Tri-Ox on Jim weeks ago, he thought, pressing the device to Ed's throat. The truck sputtered to life outside, revved its engine, and crunched off down the gravel road.

Every meaty thud, crack, and cry behind him made him wince in sympathy and worry over the supplies he had left. He helped Ed back onto the couch with Peg, moving her into a more compact position so Ed had space to recline, then turned around to determine the state of the fight. One of the Klingons, it looked like the leader, was face down and unmoving. Jim was leaning over the arm of a chair, gasping for breath while Spock hovered over him. The other two were getting the better of the Americans. Woolley managed to pull out his sidearm and aim it before dropping it to the ground with a hiss. The moment's distraction was enough for the Klingon he was fighting to take him to the floor. He didn't move. Marshall was already down, injured but conscious. BJ lay beside him. 

Leonard stood. "Let me see to them," he said, not expecting to be humored, but needing to make the attempt anyway.

A communicator chirped. "Achun here."

"You're clear to transport."

"The Federation prisoners are tagged. Bring them up with us."

Light whirled around him before he could object and in a moment he found himself standing on a Klingon transporter pad with BJ lying beside him and Spock crouched on his other side. Spock, deprived of the support of the chair he'd been leaning on, tumbled to the floor.

"Gesh, get these three to a cell. The Organians are interfering with the planet." Achun rolled his shoulders and touched the dagger at his belt. "I must speak to Captain Wakod."

"He knows," Gesh told him while hauling Spock to a standing position. McCoy offered him an arm for balance. "The last photon torpedo we fired flew off course, hit the ocean, and failed to detonate."

"He is certain to be in a foul temper. Make sure none of them dies." Achun stomped out of the room, leaving them alone with the one called Gesh. BJ still lay on the transporter pad, unconscious. Gesh hoisted him over his shoulder and walked out of the transporter room, evidently expecting him to follow with Spock.

Gesh took more care than usual to ease BJ's unconscious form to the floor. He walked briskly to a panel on the wall and tapped a few buttons. "Speak into this panel if you have need of me." 

"Mighty considerate of you," Leonard said warily.

"My survival depends on yours. Do not give Wakod reason to execute you." They were shut in their cell with a clanging finality. Leonard let go of Spock and dropped to the greasy floor beside BJ. Their captor had left him his medkit, a fortunate oversight. He pulled his medscanner and datapad out of their quilted fabric case and ran the scanner over BJ, cursing. "Spock, I need you."

*

There was a commotion outside Truman's office. He pushed back his chair to meet whatever fate had prepared for him standing. Half a dozen men tumbled through his door in quick succession. "We've taken back Blair House, Mr. President."

Truman rushed forward. "What do you mean, we've taken back Blair House? What happened to the Klingons? If you've killed any of them--"

"Mr. President, Their weapons have ceased to function. Ours have too, but we have them heavily outnumbered."

"Get them into a secure location under heavy guard. Davis, get me a complete accounting of captured enemy. Stewart, I want to be on the radio in under thirty minutes, and I want the best information you've got on the situation in fifteen. Don't assume they can't still hit us from above." The letter from Kirk suggested something of this nature, an intervention by what the Starfleet captain called Organians, might occur. 

He tugged his suit jacket into place and started briskly down the hallway, flanked by disheveled Secret Service and aides. "You, get me in touch with the Veep--we need to make a joint statement if possible." He needed to get to the bottom of the weapons failures, find out exactly what was happening and how long it was likely to last--if the ships in orbit were also powerless, they needed to use this enforced lull to best advantage, communicate with other heads of state, and coordinate strategy for when the respite inevitably ended.

*

Potter got the news over the camp radio just after dawn. He and Charles had their hot instant coffee balanced on their knees while they discussed the plan for the day. Buses were finally being dispatched from points further south to carry refugees to camps outside Kobe and onto ships heading for Okinawa. They had planned to discuss the danger of siting the camps too close to Kobe itself since the city was large enough to make a tempting target.

"The Klingons pulled their people within an hour of the weapons failures," Charles said, shaking his head.

"No doubt mobs would have done them in right quick if they hadn't. Dispatch says a bunch did get taken out before they hightailed it out of here."

"How are we supposed to run a war without weapons?" Charles mused.

"I'd guess we're not," Potter answered. The implications spun through his old warhorse of a brain, too strange to imagine.

Beside him, Winchester spluttered, "That's absurd. Do you suppose it's their Federation's doing?"

Potter shook his head. "I think something like this is a bit above their pay grade."

"Perhaps, Colonel. I believe I will head over to the supply depot to collect rations for the orphanage. Wouldn't want the little ones to get short shrift."

Potter saw him off with a raised coffee mug. The refugees were stirring, starting to form the lines that dominated their days. It seemed like everything changed on an almost daily basis anymore, but some things never did. People needed food and shelter, medical care and safety and they would keep needing those things for a long time, irregardless of wars and weather.

They might be free of the immediate danger, but he still hung his hopes on the Federation to get them through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let us all pause for a moment and think about what might happen if no one on Earth could use any kind of weapon against anyone else. 
> 
> It ain't all sunshine and lollipops. This is going to be hard.
> 
> (Seriously, anybody got any thoughts floating around they'd like to share?)

**Author's Note:**

> This author adores comments, anytime, anywhere...


End file.
